


Frame

by orphan_account



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Body Paint, F/F, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-14
Updated: 2014-01-14
Packaged: 2018-01-08 18:08:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,239
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1135805
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The artist painted a dark line on her human canvas.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Frame

 

A stroke of black paint trailed down Ymir's spine. Historia was the artist, brush held lightly over her lover's naked back. The tip was thin, allowing for artistic freedom on the freckled canvas, as she twirled it across Ymir's skin. She circled the natural dots, creating spirals of paint, applying barely any pressure at all. Occasionally, Ymir hissed to suppress a giggle or moan, and it only served to spur Historia on.

"I want to draw you," she had said, her choice of words so innocent, only her lascivious blush had given her intent away. Ymir had smirked at her, her uncanny intuition picking up on the true meaning of her words so easily.

"Oh yeah?" she had said, as she had dropped her top on the floor, and stood before her lover clad in white lingerie, which clashed with her dark skin. A few more words and teasing smiles had been exchanged after that, leading to this.

Soon Ymir's back was a complete work of art, with swirling paint lines as a decorative lace against her skin. Still drying, Historia had to resist her natural urge to feel it against her fingers, to drag her hand down the strong back, feel Ymir arch back into her touch as always. Instead she stroked Ymir's upper arm, feeling the biceps she would so often find herself wrapped up in during nights.

"What, done already?" Ymir said, cocking her head to the side and staring up at Historia, with that usual look in her eyes like whenever she stared her down. "My ass feels naked, don't get so prudish all of a sudden."

Historia was no prude, least they were in public, but when they were alone, she was known to be wicked. Her coy act came naturally with her blonde hair and slight build, but her fingers were curious in nature, and her tongue had tasted every part of Ymir there was. She liked to be overpowered, and she liked to overpower; she enjoyed to feel silk steal her sight, and she loved to tie Ymir to their shared bed. A prude, she had never been at all.

Returning to her task, she dipped the brush in black paint once more, and continued the trail down Ymir's spine, applying a second layer to it. Once she reached the crack of her behind, she said, though she could be shy with her desires if she had to speak them: "Spread your legs", and Ymir complied.

The brush danced downwards, between spread cheeks, though the act caused Ymir to shiver. Methodically, but as passionate as any artist was about her muse, Historia brought the brush back up, trailing across Ymir's firm ass. She drew more circles, and wrote in cursive the name she had revealed first to her lover, a mark of possessiveness Ymir never disapproved of. Then she painted a heart, and heard Ymir chuckle with her casual bullying nature, though it mattered very little, for it was out of affection.

Historia continued to paint on the prolonged canvas, swirling black against Ymir's thighs and legs, letting it stain and cleanse her at once. She adored this body clad in nothing and clad by her, and her breathing was unsteady with lust when she painted the final lines on the insides of Ymir's thighs, stopping just below her lover's sex.

Ymir licked her lips, when Historia put down the brush at last, to look at the completed image as it dried. Carefully, she stroke her hand against the back to feel the paint stick to the skin, and Ymir arched back against her touch as she had expected. 

Once her legs were dried as well, Historia asked her to turn, but it was harder to draw on Ymir's front, when she could stare so intently at the artist. Trailing the dark beauty with a few shades darker paint, Historia did her best to maintain control of the situation, with the brush stroking against Ymir's toned stomach. 

Crossing the natural pattern of muscle, Historia made Ymir's stomach a scenery of stylised flowers, with blades sprouting upwards. She dragged the brush between Ymir's naked breast, and then started to dot the skin, leaving round black marks over Ymir's left breast, and avoiding the nipple for the sake of artistry. The action made Ymir glare with desire unfilled, and her eyes were so intense, Historia could not bare to look without wishing she could break character and kiss her breathless.

Instead the painting continued, and she was even crueller with Ymir's right breast, drawing painfully light circles around the nipple, larger and larger until her entire breast was covered. Her breathing was getting heavier, so Historia was even bolder, as she dipped the brush in water to clean it, and returned to the exposed sex, sitting between spread legs. 

Ymir sucked in her breath, probably contemplating if she should move or not, but to preserve the drying canvas which was her body, she remained still. However, when Historia pushed the wet brush's tip against her sex, she bucked her hips upwards, and cared little if this messed up Historia's good work.

"Please, don't move," Historia asked her then. She caught Ymir's gaze,  and saw her flushed cheeks, matching her own. When she gained a nod, she continued.

The brush dipped downwards, moving between Ymir's folds. The cool water must have been unbearable against her heated lust, for Ymir groaned through gritted teeth. It was the look she had when she was tied with rope, and Historia was pleased to think that her mere words, and a few layers of paint, were enough to restrain her beast of a lover.

She continued to tease, moving the brush against Ymir's opening, pushing the tip inside just slightly, and moving out to circle the clit. She imagined still drawing, and she painted imaginary patterns, made easier when she used her free left hand to spread the folds apart. Licking her mouth, she held back from leaning down to kiss those lower lips and taste Ymir proper, but if Ymir was restrained in this was, then she should be too.

The brush did all the work, ultimately, writing words of passion through symbols, and stroking against the clit accidentally time and time again, just to hear Ymir moan. Historia saw her legs throb, and she knew what Ymir wanted to do, admiring her self control. The paint must have dried, but the painting remained unfinished, the final strokes not yet done. Historia moved the brush quicker, losing herself to her muse as she flicked the tip against the most sensitive part of Ymir's body, moving it faster and faster to match Ymir's panting.

Historia was panting too, her own sex wet and needy as she heard and saw Ymir's pleasure, but she was merely the artist this time, and not part of the finale. Yet she felt release, once Ymir broke character and bucked her hips upwards as she reached her climax, knowing that the art was complete. 

Covered front to back in black lines, Ymir lay still as she caught her breath. Chest heaving with passionate breathing, it took a few moments until her dizziness was gone. Historia moved from between her legs to straddle her, and placed a kiss at last against her mouth. She felt Ymir's tongue brush against hers, and smiled, knowing that she had gone from artist, to part of the painting itself. 


End file.
